“Now,” Marshall said with a grunt. His voice echoed in the hallway.
Hailey didn’t miss the anger in his voice.
Hal pressed his finger to his lips, pulled her along.
“What’s going on?”
Hal shook his head, continued down the stairs, past the door to the main level and down toward the basement. He tugged on the door, which was locked, and instead pulled her into the small, hidden alcove under the stairs where they waited until the voices silenced. “Press conference out front in ten minutes.”
Hailey leaned against the cold wall. Jim would have woken her if he knew something. He wouldn’t want her to be blindsided. “Press conference? For what?”
“Fredricks, for one. And they caught Carson’s shooter.”
None of that warranted hiding under the stairs. “How’d they get Carson’s killer so fast?”
“Guy called to confess.”
“Okay. It’s weird, but you didn’t pull me down for that. What’s really going on?”
“Someone leaked the shooting—the senator’s shooting.”
Jim.
How had Jim missed it? Why hadn’t he contacted her?
He’d had more to drink last night, but someone would have warned him—someone at the office or Dee. “Do you have your phone?”
“He already knows. He called me a half hour ago when he couldn’t reach you.”
The air caught in her throat. “What did he say?”
Hal hesitated, scanning her face. The unanswered questions in his eyes. “He asked that you call him after the conference.”
Jim’s shooting would have the press digging up the past. Of course they would want to link this shooting to John’s death. She imagined the headlines. Father shot one year after son. The killer missed this time. “How’d it get out?”
“It’s a good question. Marshall’s going nuts looking for you. He wants you there.”
She was about to be the centerpiece of a damn press conference. Why hadn’t she charged her phone? She’d stayed up too late. Drank with the Rookie Club then with Jim. What if they made her speak?
“We’d better go,” he added.
She grabbed his arm, stopping him. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
He turned back, his expression grateful. Too grateful. She had let him down. How many times had she given him only part of the truth? And now she was going to do it again.
She looked away. “I have a lead that you’re not going to like.”
“Okay.”
Hailey forced herself to meet Hal’s gaze. “Jim got a letter—a while back—from a guy who didn’t support his politics…”
Hal raised his brow. “I just found out about this letter last night.”
“What’s this letter got to do with us?”
“The guy quoted Jung.”
“Jung,” he repeated.
“Right.”
“So he got a letter from the same guy who sent the note with the warning shot?”
She shook her head, measuring it out. “No. This letter came thirteen years ago.”
Hal blew out his breath.
“From Nicholas Fredricks,” she said.
“Shit.”
A door slammed above them and Marshall came into the stairwell, cursing. Hal turned and climbed the stairs, three at a time.
“Marshall,” he shouted as she followed. “She’s here. I got her.”
“Thank fucking God,” Marshall hollered down the stairwell.
“Hi, Captain,” Hailey called up.
“Where the hell have you been, Wyatt?” he barked. He was breathing heavily and already tugging at his tie. “Forget it,” he went on. “Let’s just get out there before the press start reporting more bullshit about the police not being cooperative.”
Hal held open the door as they entered the lobby. On the front steps of the hall, a mob of cameras and reporters shouldered one another to close the extra millimeters of space between them.
Homicide Inspectors O’Shea and Kong stood on the far side of the microphone along with Ryaan Berry of Triggerlock. O’Shea nodded to her. There would be new pressure around John’s murder investigation. More questions, more theories, more dead ends. How long would she have to go through that?
Marshall scratched at the skin beneath his collar and craned his neck as though to relieve the pressure. “Okay,” he said, raising his palms to the crowd.
“Ladies and gentlemen.” Marshall fingered his neck where a trail of red on the skin looked like the path of tiny fire ants. “The body of Nicholas Fredricks was disinterred yesterday by Inspectors Wyatt and Harris as part of an ongoing investigation that I am not, at this time, at liberty to discuss.”
The crowd began to lobby questions.
A shooting on the block of the police department was big news. Why hadn’t she thought to check the paper? Or her phone?
Because she had been distracted by Jim’s story, by the confrontation with Dee, by the discovery about Regal Insurance… She was distracted.
“In the matter of the shooting that occurred yesterday at twenty-one hundred hours down the street from where we’re standing—” The cameramen swung to film the street though any evidence of the crime was gone. “We received a phone call early this morning from a suspect who has claimed responsibility for the two murders. At this time, the suspect is in custody.”
“Is this shooter responsible for the other deaths?” asked the ABC correspondent, a thin blonde whose lips were lined in the exact rose hue of her sweater. She glanced down at her notepad. “Hank and Abby Dennig of Pacific Heights and Colby Wesson of Placerville?”
Hailey froze. Did the press know about the buttons found at each of the scenes? They had managed to keep that out of the press until now. She wanted to look to Hal but didn’t dare. Face forward, keep a blank expression.
Don’t give anything away.
As soon as the reporter’s voice faded, an onslaught of other questions flew through the air.
Marshall waved both hands, palms down, into the crowd as though to flatten their voices with the heels of his hands. “Please.” He pointed to another reporter, halfway back in the crowd.
“Guardian here. What about the shooting of Senator James Wyatt a few nights ago? Do you have a suspect?” he called out.
There it was. Jim’s shooting. She hoped to hell that wasn’t leaked by someone in her own department. What if she was wrong and this did have to do with Jim? She’d never heard the story of Dottie before last night. Liz didn’t even know about it.
What else might Jim be hiding?
“Do you believe the senator’s shooting is related to these others?” ABC asked. “And is there a possibility that the shooter in custody is responsible for these other deaths?”
“At this time, we have not confirmed any connections,” Marshall said evenly, smoothing his tie. “But we have not ruled them out, either. Inspectors on both cases are working in close cooperation… as we always do,” he added, motioning to Hal and Hailey on one side of him, Kong and O’Shea on the other.
“One more question,” Marshall said, steering his gaze away from the Guardian and ABC.
“Isn’t Inspector Wyatt the daughter of Senator Wyatt?” the Guardian yelled out. “How does that impact your case?”
“Do you feel personally threatened, Inspector Wyatt?” added ABC.
Marshall frowned and glanced over to Hailey, nodded her to the mike. “I am Senator Wyatt’s daughter. Daughter-in-law, actually. For that reason, I am not on the team investigating the shooting incident at his home.”
“She’d probably love to see him in cuffs,” joked a reporter Hailey didn’t recognize. CBS, maybe.
“And no, I don’t feel threatened,” Hailey responded, focusing on the line around ABC’s full lips. “I have total f
aith in the department’s ability to find whoever is responsible for shooting at Senator Wyatt, and I have faith that my partner, Inspector Harris, and I will find the killer who took three lives last year.”
“Wasn’t your husband also shot by an intruder in Senator Wyatt’s home last February?” the Guardian reporter called back. “That case was never solved. Do you still have faith that the department will find his killer?”
Hailey held his gaze though her legs were unstable beneath her. For months after John’s death, reporters and newspapers had pressured her to do an interview. What a story it was—homicide inspector’s husband murdered in their home and the case remains unsolved. It had everything the press loved—tragedy, human interest, intrigue, death and an opportunity to point to the police’s failure.
Hell, it could be a movie.
Even now, over a year later, the press still called O’Shea to ask if there were any new developments. Every time, he made sure she knew, caught her up to date on what angles he and Kong were working.
How she prayed it didn’t start all over again.
“Are you considering the possibility that his death is also related?” the Guardian reporter shouted.
Marshall put his hand up and stepped forward again. Hal motioned her back toward the building.
“That’s all we have time for now,” Marshall said.
Hal led her to the elevator. She usually took the stairs—the old elevators rattled and Hal always seemed uneasy in small spaces.
She had no energy for walking.
Marshall slid in beside them, as did O’Shea and Kong, forming a square in front of where Hailey stood pressed to the cold steel back wall of the box.
“Damn piranhas,” O’Shea said. “Always digging up the dead. Over and over, I tell you,” he went on, with the hint of Irish brogue that appeared when he was performing, as he was now.
She and O’Shea were never close. Maybe that was why Marshall assigned him to John’s shooting. Since then, she avoided him as much as possible. The good news was that he tended to avoid her, too.
“You’ll brief her on the shooter suspect,” Marshall said to Hal, ignoring O’Shea. Hal nodded and Marshall clapped as the doors opened on their floor. “Good. Let’s get to work then.”
As he stepped off the elevator, Hal pressed his palm to the bare skin of his scalp.
She tried to read his expression. Was he thinking about the letter Jim had gotten from Nicholas Fredricks with the same wording as the letter that had accompanied a bullet two days earlier?
Because she was.
That and a dozen things Hal didn’t even know about—Dottie’s shooting and the fact that Dee was dating Tom Rittenberg, but she’d been in love with Nick Fredricks.
How Hailey wanted to tell Hal all of it, lay everything out for him so that he could help her work through it.
But how could she? How could she tell him all of the ways in which her family might be involved and still ask him not to jump to that conclusion? Not to insist that it all related to Jim.
Because it didn’t. It couldn’t.
She and Hal needed to talk about the letter Jim had gotten and form a plan. “We’re on this shooter guy?”
Hal nodded. “He’s over at General—gunshot wound to the head.”
Gunshot. “Wait. What gunshot wound? I thought no one got a good shot off on him.”
“No one did,” Hal confirmed. “At least not in the alley.”
“So who shot him?”
“Guess he had a disagreement with one of his boys. They shot it out in his apartment up in Hunters Point, around ten o’clock last night, an hour plus or minus after Carson died. Our guy took a bullet to the brain. Lucky for him it was a little bullet.”
“It doesn’t usually take a big one.”
“Yeah, well, he’s also lucky cause it caught his skull at just the right angle, circled inside the skin but never penetrated the cranium.” Hal raised his brows. “That’s some lucky, eh?”
“You’re saying the guy took a close range shot to the head and is alive to talk about it?”
“That’s what I’m saying. Kid’s fine. Little flesh wound is all. Well, some good bleeding ‘cause it was his head, but no permanent damage.”
She frowned. “Who called the ambulance?”
“Neighbor.”
“It’s unbelievable,” she said.
“I know. Doctor over at General said he’d never seen anything like it.”
“And now he wants to confess to murder?”
Hal shook his head. “Yeah, like maybe he found Jesus last night, wants to do his penance and get started on a new life.”
“What about the other guy—the friend?”
Hal leaned back on his heels and recited from memory. “Name’s Kenny Fiston. Friends called him Fish. Three priors for firearms: illegal possession and intent to sell. Served ten months for one, eighteen for another. The last charges were dropped in exchange for information.”
Hailey tried to fit this kid with the one who had been killed on the street. Similar backgrounds and ages. Ryaan had said they had only located the low-level guys. Hunters Point was the projects. If they’d shot it out there, Fish wasn’t running the guns. He was another street kid being used. “Who was his attorney?”
Hal raised a brow. “You mean like Martin Abbott?” He shook his head. “No such luck. And according to Neill, none of ‘em have ever had representation. Ballistics is running the gun found on Robbins—the kid with the bullet in his head—to see if it’s a match.” He nodded toward the department. “You need anything in there or should we head over to General?”
Hailey wanted to touch base with Jim on the press conference and to assure him that they were okay after last night. But there was no privacy inside the department. “Let’s go.”
“You can tell me about the letter on the ride over.”
Before she could respond, Cameron Cruz appeared around the corner, almost running. “They told me you guys were here.”
“And here we are,” Hal said.
“What’s going on?” Hailey asked.
“I heard you guys were heading over to talk to the suspect, the one who confessed.”
Hal nodded. “That’s right.”
“Mind if I come along?” she asked, wringing her hands. “By the way, that was fun last night.”
“Last night?” Hal repeated.
“A bunch of us went out,” Cameron said.
“It was just some women,” Hailey added awkwardly.
“Why do you want to come meet this guy?” Hal asked.
“It was the closest I’ve ever been to a shooting.”
“Kind of strange since your job is a Specialist,” Hal said, half joking.
“Right, but I’m usually up on a roof somewhere.”
“So why do you want to come?” Hal asked again.
“I’m hoping I’ll recognize him.”
Hailey turned to Hal. “The shooter was masked though, right?”
“There were a lot of tells,” Cameron cut in.
“What kind of tells?” Hal asked.
“That shooter was a professional. His stance, his aim, he was good,” she said, relaxing momentarily. “From what I hear, the suspect you have doesn’t fit. I watched that guy. I don’t want him out there. I’d like to offer some help if I can.”
Hailey thought about the man who was running from the building—the reddish beard, the white face. Maybe was their trained killer.
“Sure. I’d love an honest opinion,” Hal said, his gaze holding on Hailey. “For a change.”
Chapter 12
Hailey got into the backseat, Hal drove. He knew it was an asshole thing to say. He was pissed. He had a right to be pissed. While Cameron talked through her version of last night’s shooting, Hal strained to listen to the conve
rsation Hailey was having with Jim in the backseat.
“Hal and I are on our way to see a suspect,” was the one thing he’d heard clearly. The answers from the backseat shrank to one word. Yes. No. No. Yes. “I know,” she whispered and Hal felt a chill ripple across the skin of his scalp.
The gentle tone of her voice, the reassurances, made it sound like it was John on the other end of the phone. What hold did Jim have on her? Why did she trust him? She could barely stand him when John was alive, but now they were thick as thieves.
And at the same time, she had stopped confiding in him.
Her partner.
When he caught her eye in the rearview mirror, she turned away as though she hadn’t seen him.
There was something in her refusal to meet his gaze.
Sheila had done same thing—like a refusal to let him in.
As they walked into the hospital, Hailey pushed the thick curls from her forehead, held her chin up like she was preparing for the fight.
The old Hailey again.
Mike Neill was at the entrance to the hospital’s jail ward when they arrived. He sat just outside the arches of the metal detector.
When they were through security, Mike pulled a stack of folded pages from his back pocket. “Here are some images of the scene. Also, they matched the gun found on James Robbins to the bullets that killed Dwayne Carson and— Griffin Sigler, the driver of the car.”
Hailey stepped forward. “Hal said this guy was shot in the head?”
Mike nodded. “You’re skeptical, too?”
“A little.”
“Join the club. I’ve been with the medical examiner all morning. The shooting scenario doesn’t work the way Robbins is telling it.”
“He’s lying about them shooting each other?” Cameron asked.
“Absolutely,” Mike said. “These kids were seated across the room from each other, but both were shot at a downward angle. It’s not possible if they shot each other.”
How did these kids even fit into this? What link did they have to people like Abby and Hank Dennig to Dwayne Carson? Two rich white people and a black kid who probably didn’t start high school.
Carson then Fiston and Robbins who was lucky to be alive—they were kids. Why were they suddenly targeting these kids?
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